


...But here's what *really* happened.

by Aja



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:06:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja/pseuds/Aja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If ever there were words Will Graham imagines he would utter upon returning to consciousness after surviving a plunge into a very icy, very deep section of the Atlantic, they would not be:</p><p>“Freddie Lounds? What the <i>fuck?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	...But here's what *really* happened.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for lunchtop who is just as flummoxed as I am over what to do with that damn last scene, haha. [This](http://blog.tattle-crime.com/post/127911883785/but-remember-ink-like-blood-can-run-ive-got-a) \+ 3x13 = er, this, apparently. Mostly crack, but, well, murder husbands.

If ever there were words Will Graham imagines he would utter upon returning to consciousness after surviving a plunge into a very icy, very deep section of the Atlantic, they would not be:

“Freddie Lounds? What the  _fuck_?”

Freddie is sitting a few feet away in the cockpit, looking singularly unimpressed. His head still swims; the whir of helicopter blades churning overhead is thundering. Hannibal lies next to him on a twin bedroll. Grinning.

“Did you  _change my clothes_?” Will manages to call out over the noise between coughs.

Freddie arches her eyebrows. “No. I let Hannibal change them. After I fished you both out of the sea, you’re welcome.”

“You followed us? Since when do you have a helicopter?”

“Since the updated edition of Abigail William’s tragically curtailed biography became a bestseller,” Frankie says. “And no, I didn’t follow you, don’t you think you’d’ve seen the helicopter? It’s 2015, I sent a drone after you.”

Will stares at her. Freddie rolls her eyes. “What, you think Tattle Crime gets all those overhead shots from reporters climbing trees? I swung by in the helicopter just in time to fetch you out of the ocean.”

Will tries to sit up but Hannibal reaches out a firm hand and presses him gently back down again. “You need your beauty rest for where we’re going,” he says.

Will pats Hannibal’s hand because. Well. It’s there. It’s a very manly hand, and it feels really warm against his cheek. Also he’s pretty sure Hannibal has no plans to eat him any time soon, but, well, Will did just non-consensually rope him into a murder-suicide pact, so he’s probably wanting a little affection from Will right about now.

“Where exactly is where we’re going?” Will mutters. 

“I’m told Argentina is nice this time of year,” says Hannibal. “But Freddie is just going to drop us off further out to sea. I’ve got a boat waiting.”

“ _You’ve_  got a boat,” Will repeats.

Hannibal shrugs. “Your boat, actually. It was only going to get dry rot sitting in that harbor in Livorno, so I fetched it for you in case it was needed.”

“You planned this with _Freddie_?”

“Oh, please,” says Freddie. “I’m not the one of us who plays footsie with serial killers. But you owe me a biography. Can’t write it if you’re dead.”

“Can’t write it if I’m on the run, either,” Will rasps. 

“No, but you can give me an interview a year from now, when you inevitably emerge from your little honeymoon,” Freddie says. “So I got you out of the water, you get me an exclusive, and no one gets this roll I have of Hannibal and Will Graham slicing up their bloody red dragon wedding cake.” She holds up the roll of negatives enticingly. 

Will looks over at Hannibal. He must successfully telegraph,  _We could just eat her_ , because Hannibal grins at him like he’s a puppy who’s learned a new trick. “Unfortunately, Will, tempting as that prospect is, we need her to serve as a witness. No survivors.”

“You think Jack Crawford will trust that?” Will says. 

Freddie snorts. “He trusted you,” she says, and that shuts him up long enough to look over and see Hannibal still lying on his side, watching him. 

“You’re gonna need to dress that wound,” Will says, knowing he must look like shit himself. He can still taste Dolarhyde’s blood on his lips. He thinks about tasting it on Hannibal’s, and can’t quite repress a shiver. 

Hannibal glances down at his side. “It’s just a flesh wound,” he says. “Nothing a little dip in the Atlantic didn’t clean.” 

Will scoots over and lays his hand over Hannibal’s ribs, grateful in spite of everything for the way his breathing is steady, the way his stomach rises and falls under Will’s palm. After another moment, he shifts and lays his head on Hannibal’s chest. He feels sore all over, but he’s getting better every moment.

“Almost there,” says Freddie from the pilot’s seat. “You’re gonna give me a photo of the two of you holding each other like that, right?”

“Kinda defeat the purpose of playing dead, right?” says Will, not really bringing himself to mind all that much. He turns his head into the curve of Hannibal’s neck, and Hannibal brings his arm down over Will’s back, pulling him in close.

“Oh, no, this isn’t for Tattle,” says Freddie. “This is just for me. I’ll post it on the Murder Husbands Tumblr and tell everyone it’s a photoshop.”

“You’ve introduced me to some of the most charming people,” Will says to Hannibal, and Hannibal laughs and kisses his forehead, smoothing his fingers through Will’s hair. 

They rest like that until the helicopter descends, Hannibal’s hand in his, and Chiyo and the  _Nola_  waiting to carry them home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to _Clue_ for the title and Fuller for the crack. Come say hi on [tumblr](http://bookshop.tumblr.com) or on [twitter](http://twitter.com/ajaromano). :)


End file.
